Charlie Eppes and the Deep Fried Turkey
by Jelsemium
Summary: Originally posted at Numb3rs dot org. This is a not.to.be.taken seriously look at the Eppes residence at Thanksgiving.
1. Chapter 1

Charlie Eppes and the Deep Fried Turkey

_Yes, I have been watching way too much Food TV. Especially Alton Brown, who is almost as much fun to watch as Bill Nye. Seeing the two of them together on a TV special is one of my Christmas wishes._

_I wrote this story last year, when I was getting especially frustrated with my 2006 NaNoWriMo novel. It may not be coherent. Editing it for coherence may ruin whatever charm it may lay claim to. Do not expect it to be entirely in character as it was written for humor._

_This is dedicated to elysium1996, for giving me the idea to write a Thanksgiving Day story, to AmyD, for putting up with my belly-aching, and to Statsgrandma, because she puts me in her stories and turns a lovely shade of pink when I dedicate things to her. _

_Even though this story is about America's Most Food Oriented Holiday, you probably should not eat or drink when reading it._

_The author takes no responsibility for the state of your keyboard before, during or after reading this story. Thank you. _

Beginning Actual Story

Charles Edward Eppes liked trying new things. Really, he did. In spite of the widespread belief that Charlie couldn't handle change.

Said belief was fueled by the nasty rumor that Charlie had slept in a crib until he had left for Harvard. A calumny that had been spread by a so-called "informed inside source" coughDoncough.

It was a blatant lie. As everybody knew, Charlie had attended Princeton.

So much for the informed inside source.

Anyway, the new thing that Charlie wanted to try on the Thanksgiving in question was deep fried turkey.

Charlie wanted to break with the traditional roast turkey because he liked fried chicken and he had heard that fried turkey was especially juicy. Also, it appealed to his scientific nature, because deep frying is more efficient, energy wise, than roasting.

The fact that the turkey would have to be deep fried outside the house and far away from the Eppes' guests including Alan's new girlfriend, Dr. Mildred Finch, (who was also Charlie's new boss), didn't enter the equation at all.

That was Charlie's story and he was going to stick to it.

"So where do we set it up?" Don asked, eying the turkey fryer with much the same misgiving as he would an explosive device.

Come to think of it, considering how many people injured themselves by trying to deep fry a turkey, maybe the explosive device would have been more welcome. At least Colby and David could handle an explosive device when they got there.

"On the lawn," Charlie decided. "If the oil boils over, it would damage wood and stain the concrete. The grass will grow back…" he paused. "Eventually."

Don rolled his eyes. "Why isn't that reassuring?" he asked.

"What's your problem?" Charlie asked. "You don't have to do lawn work around here."

"No," Don said. "But if the lawn gets ruined, then I have to listen to Dad complain about it."

"You can always eat at your own apartment," Charlie pointed out.

"Then I have to listen to Dad complain that I never come over," Don pointed out. "It's really much easier on everyone if you don't fry the lawn, Chuck."

"Ah, yeah." The mathematician did some mental calculations. "I know, let's take it all the way behind the koi pond. The grass in that area is always partially in the shade and usually looks half dead anyway."

Don sighed. However, he and Megan obediently carried the ancient and decrepit picnic table out to the desired location.

Don grumbled the whole way.

"Would you rather sit inside and entertain Mildred?" Charlie asked. He carried the infamous turkey fryer and set it up on what Don had to admit was _sincerely_ dead looking grass.

"She can't be that bad, can she?" Megan Reeves asked.

"Trust me, oh partner of my brother and person of interest to my mentor," Charlie said pompously.

Professor Larry Fleinhardt was following the Eppes brothers with a closed cooler. At Charlie's comment, he choked back a laugh. "Charles, what a silly thing to say," he said.

"A choice between Mildred and second degree burns isn't an easy one to make," Charlie said to Megan. To Larry, he added "You're right, I've been hanging around you much too long."

"I do not say silly things," Larry protested. "Eccentric things, yes. Silly, no. And speaking of silly, I, personally, would rather endure Millie's company than to acquire any burns."

Larry set his burden down and considered. "Especially since hot oil burns are more likely to be in the third degree rather than the second."

"I'll drink to that," Amita said. She was carrying a milk crate filled various cooking utensils, eating utensils, a stack of plates and a plastic jug filled with peanut oil. She also had a coil of rope slung over her shoulder like a mountain climber.

She wasn't sure why she needed the rope, but Charlie had asked her to carry it.

She fished her lovely beverage out of her crate and took a sip. She wasn't sure what was in it, but Millie had assured her it was an essential aid in dealing with men of science.

"I admit that being burned isn't on my to-do list," Charlie said. "I just want to try a new and different culinary experience." He set up the deep fryer on a particularly ugly patch of crab grass that he should have weeded out months ago.

"Isn't that redundant?" Amita asked. "You can't have something new that is the same, can you?"

Charlie chose to ignore her comments.

"Maybe you should have considered a new pie recipe," Larry said.

Don shook his head. "You didn't see what happened the time Charlie tried to bake an apple pie," he said in dark and dire tones.

Charlie looked at him indignantly. "That was twenty years ago, Don," he protested. "I was twelve."

"You were getting straight A's in high school chemistry," Don said. "You should have been able to follow a simple pie recipe." To the others Don added. "It all worked out, though because Mom had wanted a new stove, anyway."

"You two should write a book about your childhood," Megan said. "It would be a best seller in both comedy and tragedy."

"Don't you have some reports to write?" Don asked witheringly.

Megan held her hands up in surrender. "I'll be good," she promised.

A look of skepticism crossed Don's face.

A look of disappointment crossed Larry's face.

"I wouldn't have set the stove on fire if you hadn't constantly nagged me to play catch with you," Charlie grumbled as he set up the deep fryer.

"You were a boy, Chuck," Don said. "You were supposed to be playing ball, not making like Suzy Homemaker."

"Explain to me why the only times you wanted to play with me was when I was busy with something else," Charlie complained.

Amita decided that this was the time to change the subject. "So, what needs to be done to a deep fried turkey?" she asked. "I take it that basting it is right out."

Larry nodded. "Correct," he said. "First, create a brine, which is a mixture of water, salt and brown sugar."

"Dark brown sugar," Charlie amended.

Larry shrugged. "Brown sugar to your preference," he said. "Then you soak the turkey in the brine for a minimum of eight hours."

Charlie gestured to the cooler. "The recipe said eight to sixteen hours. I put it in at ten PM last night, and didn't take it out until four PM."

"So you went for the maximum brine time," Larry said.

Charlie nodded.

"Then you let it dry, I hope," a new, female voice said. Dr. Mildred "Call Me Millie" Finch had arrived, being too curious to sit in the house while the majority of the party had adjourned to the great outdoors.

Don wondered if Charlie would explode at having Mildred Finch thwart his escape attempt.

"Yes, definitely," Larry said. "As oil and water do not mix. Hot oil and water are an especially unhappy combination."

"Even I knew that," Don said. "So, how long as the bird been drying?"

"I patted it down with a paper towel, as per the recipe," Charlie said. He was apparently too immersed in his calculations to resent, or maybe even notice, Mildred's arrival.

"That will not dry the turkey completely," Alan said. The patriarch of the Eppes clan came up behind Mildred and for a moment Don feared that his father would put his arms around the woman.

Don had nothing against Mildred personally. Heck, anybody who could get Charlie's goat on a daily, no hourly, basis like she did got brownie points as far as he was concerned.

However, he was not quite ready for Public Displays of Affection from his father towards a relatively strange woman.

Admittedly, all his relatives were strange, but that was beside the point.

Fortunately, Alan's hands were already occupied. He held his lovely beverage in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other. Don could have kicked himself for not thinking of the fire extinguisher.

"No, patting down the turkey won't dry it completely," Charlie agreed. He looked at his father and Mildred with resignation. Don was relieved to note that he wouldn't have to break up a fight.

"The turkey has been draining since I took it out of the brine," Charlie said. "The recipe suggested that half an hour would be good, and this was two hours ago."

Mildred nodded. "Extra drying won't hurt," she opined.

"How do you know how much oil to use?" Megan asked.

"What kind of oil are you using?" Alan asked. He looked around. "Shouldn't you have dug this crab grass up months ago?"

Charlie shrugged. "Yes, pater familias of mine," he said. "I should have found time to deal with the crab grass much earlier in the year. However, the sudden influx of busy work has set my schedule back." He looked pointedly at Millie.

"Hey, you can always drop the consulting work," Millie said, looking pointedly back at Charlie.

"No, he can't," Don said. "I have dibs on him."

"I sign his paycheck," Millie said. "That gives me priority."

"I've known Charlie since my parents brought the stinky, pooping brat home from the hospital," Don countered. "That gives me priority."

"I don't understand why you're complaining," Alan said. "You never had to change his diapers."

"It's too late to get rid of the crab grass now, anyway," Charlie said in a desperate attempt to get the subject away from his pre-toilet trained days.

"Why?" Alan demanded.

"It has tenure," Charlie explained.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie Eppes and the Deep Fried Turkey Part 2

This author is not responsible for the state of your keyboard/monitor after reading this story, so NO eating or drinking.

* * *

Millie and Amita laughed at the idea of tenured crab grass. 

Alan sighed tragically. "I'm beginning to understand why you and your brother aren't in a rush to have children," he told Don. "They'll probably be just like you two."

Don shrugged. "Nobody could be as perfect as us," he said.

"Grandchildren are much more fun than children," Mildred said. "I should have had them first."

"Actually, the 'fun' part is _creating_ the children," Larry observed.

Everybody gaped at him in surprise.

Larry blinked back at them innocently, as if he was too demure, diffident and downright metaphysical to have said what just came out of his mouth.

Then all eyes (except Megan's) shifted to Megan.

Megan decided to change the topic back to what they were talking about earlier, because deep frying turkey over crab grass was suddenly a topic she wanted everyone focused on. "So, what kind of oil is this?" she asked again.

"Peanut oil," Larry explained. "It has a high smoke point, so it is less likely to cause an explosion."

"Plus it does not have much taste, so it will not contaminate the turkey flavor," Charlie added.

"How do you determine the amount?" Amita asked. She studied the interior of the turkey fryer. "This doesn't have markings inside."

Larry shook his head. "It would be pointless," he said. "The actual amount depends on the size and weight of the turkey in question."

"As for how much," Charlie said. "Yesterday, we put the turkey in the deep fryer and filled it with water until the turkey was completely covered and we still had five inches of space below the top of the fryer."

"Then we measured the amount of water," Larry said. He gestured to the plastic jug. "And that's exactly how much oil that we have in there."

"What's the rope for?" Mildred asked. She started sipping on her second lovely beverage.

That's when Don noticed that Millie had brought out a jug of her own. He wasn't sure what was in it, but drinking it seemed like a good idea.

Charlie and Larry's faces were covered with the kind of grin that was normally associated with maniacs with a cellar full of trophy wives.

Don began to long for a simple serial murder to crop up to give him an excuse to leave. Come to think of it, maybe he had better go back to the office. He might have left his computer on or something.

"The rope is for the…" Charlie paused dramatically. "Turkey scaffold."

If Charlie was hoping for shock and the dropping of jaws, he got it.

"What?" Amita blurted.

Megan blinked at the two scientists. "A turkey scaffold? Are you kiddin' me?"

Don downed his first lovely beverage in one gulp without tasting it.

"A turkey (pause) scaffold?" Mildred repeated as if she couldn't believe her ears. "What in the name of engineering is a turkey scaffold?"

"We're not kidding," Charlie said smugly. "In fact, I've got a new, scientifically designed scaffold for this very purpose." He darted off toward the garage.

The others stood around in silence.

Larry continued to grin at them, daring them to ask him for enlightenment, but even the hardened agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation were unnerved by the evilness emanating from the blond cosmologist's grin.

They were further bewildered when Charlie reappeared lugging his turkey scaffold.

"That looks like a ladder to me," Megan observed.

"It is, at the moment, an ordinary ladder," Charlie confirmed. "But, in a few short minutes…"

"Or an hour or so," Larry muttered sotto voce.

This earned him a dirty look from Charlie.

"In spite of skepticism from the audience," Charlie said. "This ladder will be transformed into a turkey scaffold, otherwise known as a food safety net."

"How?" asked Mildred.

"Watch and observe," Charlie said smugly. "I actually learned this trick from an episode of "Good Eats" on Food Network."

"I love Alton Brown," Megan enthused.

Larry shot her a wounded look.

"I greatly admire Alton Brown's cooking skills and ingenuity," Megan amended.

Larry gave a satisfied nod. "First, let's start the fire, Charles," Larry suggested. "Then we can set up the scaffold while the oil warms up."

"Excellent suggestion, Lawrence," Charlie said approvingly.

They added the pre measured oil into the turkey fryer. Charlie fussed over the thermometer until it was settled to his satisfaction.

Then he lit the fire under the turkey fryer, being very careful not to burn himself.

He gave his audience a smug smile before going to work on the turkey scaffold.

The mathematician was not so smug after stringing the rope. It didn't take the few minutes that he had optimistically estimated. Fortunately, it also didn't take the hours that Larry had pessimistically estimated.

As they worked, Alan brought out lawn chairs and another jug of lovely beverage for the spectators.

"Don't you have a football game to watch?" Charlie asked with some asperity.

"Good point," Alan said. He returned to the house and came back a few minutes later with a portable, battery operated television set. He turned on the game, but he might as well have left the television off for all that anybody paid attention to the game.

"Oh, how cute," Amita said. She bent over to get a closer look at the television set.

"We got it when we went to a seminar on Maui time share condos," Mildred said. "We also got a gift certificate for the Black Angus steak house."

Don felt a tad appalled and he could see Charlie turn a tad green.

"You and Dad are going to get a time share condo?" Don asked. The mental image of his father and Charlie's boss sharing a condo was something Don was going to need a lot of lovely beverage to get rid of.

"We gave it some thought," his father admitted.

Charlie went even greener, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned all his attention to the turkey scaffold and completely tuned out the conversation.

In the end, it took Charlie and Larry thirty three minutes and twenty seven seconds to complete the arrangement. When they were finished, there was a cat's cradle of ropes and pulleys dangling from the ladder.

"So the purpose of this is what?" Alan asked.

"To lower the turkey gently into the boiling oil," Larry said. "We have taken every precaution; however, some element of risk remains."

Charlie nodded. "This way, instead of standing next to the oil when we lower the turkey into it and risk getting splashed with boiling oil in… um…" he looked at the ladies.

"A delicate region," Megan suggested.

"And destroying your hopes for children and Alan's hopes for grandchildren," Mildred added.

"Ow," Alan opined.

"We can lower the turkey from a safe distance in case anything goes wrong," Charlie said hurriedly.

Larry and Charlie maneuvered the contraption until it was standing over the deep fryer.

Larry tied the turkey to the rope and backed away.

Charlie began to lower the turkey slowly.

Larry started a running commentary. "Inch by inch, slowly the doomed fowl approached the boiling oil. 'Do you expect me to talk?' the turkey challenged. 'No, Mr. Meleagris Gallopavo,' sneered the mad mathematician. 'I expect you to FRY! Bwa ha ha!'"

Charlie made a mental note to cut Larry off from the lovely beverages much earlier in the day at the next party.

The spectators took their lovely beverages and their lawn chairs and moved back to give Charlie some room in case something went wrong.

Like Charlie losing his grip on the rope.

Followed by the turkey plunging into the turkey fryer. Fo a moment it looked like this wasn't going to affect the outcome.

Then the turkey came roaring out of the fryer like a dragon from its lair.

Boiling oil geysered out of the deep fryer, putting an end to the tenured crab grass, some innocently by-standing dandelions and Charlie's lovely beverage, which had been sitting on one of the steps of the turkey scaffolding.

There was a moment of shocked silence for the demise of the lovely beverage before Alan extinguished the spot fires that were burning in his lawn… Charlie's lawn.

"Well, that didn't work as planned," Megan said with considerable restraint.

Charlie and Larry were gazing after the disappeared turkey, evidently estimating its trajectory.

"You, too, will believe a turkey can fly," Don said. He laughed into his lovely beverage and almost choked himself.

"Where did it go?" Alan asked. He was looking up, one hand shading his eyes, the other still firmly wrapped around his glass.

"I think it landed on the roof," Charlie said.

"That was the terminus that my calculations returned, also, Charles," Larry concurred.

They got an extension ladder to retrieve the flying bird from the roof. Charlie and Alan climbed up while Larry and Don held the ladder. The three women sat in the lawn chairs and laughed themselves silly.

"David and Colby will never forgive themselves for missing this," Megan chortled.

Alan surveyed the damage to the roof. "You needed to re shingle, anyway," he told his younger son in tones that weren't comforting, nor were intended to be.

Charlie debated the best way to get the turkey off the roof. "Amita, bring the trash can around here, will you?" he called.

Amita stifled her amusement long enough to fetch the requested trash can.

Charlie made a few quick calculations and dropped the turkey. For once in his mathematical life, his numbers were off, possibly due to the injestion of lovely beverages.

The turkey narrowly missed braining Amita.

Fortunately Amita was fast enough (and still sober enough) to jump back and pull the trash barrel to where she had been standing just in time to catch the turkey and avoid a concussion.

"Um, sorry," Charlie called.

"I want a diamond circle necklace for Christmas," Amita called up at him.

Charlie blinked down at her. "Um, I thought you were Hindu."

"And you are Jewish and we don't normally celebrate Christmas, but you don't normally drop crispy fried turkeys on my head for Thanksgiving," Amita returned in a reasonable tone that strongly suggested that Charlie might wind up sleeping alone if he didn't comply with her wishes.

He decided that he had better get to the Zales sale first thing in the morning.

He meekly followed his father back down the ladder.

"So, what do we do for dinner?" Alan said.

"I still have reservations for eight o'clock at Black Angus," Mildred said. "I figured that we might want to go over for dessert."

"That should give us time to clean up," Amita said. "When did you make the reservations?"

"Last week," Mildred said. "Before Alan invited me over. Then when I heard that dinner was going to be an experiment, I decided not to cancel them."

"Good thinking," Don laughed. He gave Charlie a shove as soon as his brother's feet were on solid ground. "I'm driving. You're not."

"Why?" Charlie challenged.

"Because I am expecting you to get bombed out of your mind tonight," Don said. "You should see the size of the margaritas that Black Angus serves."

Charlie looked at his father and his boss getting very friendly with each other and decided that getting blotto might just be his new Thanksgiving tradition.

Charlie sighed. "I don't suppose that they have fried turkey on the menu."

Millie chucked him under the chin. "I doubt it. However, I do know a nice little bistro that makes the absolute best Monte Cristo sandwiches."

"I thought they were made with ham," Charlie said with a frown. He thought that maybe he would have to stop disliking this woman, scary as that thought was.

"They're made with both, actually," Alan said. "That sounds like a great idea, Millie. Maybe we should make that our new After-Thanksgiving tradition."

"You know, this deep fried turkey business has possibilities," Megan said thoughtfully. "First, we need to go someplace with a little more room than a backyard."

"One of the professors in mechanical engineering has a place out in the desert," Larry said.

"Perfect," Megan said. "We'll also need to check the zoning laws. After all, if we're going to indulge in dangerous activities, we need to know what the local laws are."

"Dangerous activities?" Don asked, pulling his nose out of his lovely beverage. "That sounds interesting." He thought it over. "What did you have in mind?"

Megan nodded. "See, we skip this crap with the brining and seasoning and drying the turkey and just get a couple of dozen frozen turkeys." She paused for breath. "Maybe a couple of deep fryers, too."

Don was getting into the spirit of Megan's imaginings. Or maybe he was getting into the spirits of his lovely beverage, the exact recipe of which he had never had the courage to inquire after.

"So instead of shooting at turkeys during our turkey shoot, we shoot with turkeys," Don chortled. He tilted his head. "What, exactly would we be shooting at?"

"We could set up targets," Millie said soberly. Or as soberly as she could one third of the way through her third lovely beverage.

"If we're out in the country, where shooting is legal, we could bring some shotguns," Larry added. "You know, the kind that they use for skeet shooting."

Don, Megan and Millie laughed.

"Wonderful!" Don said. "We could not only shoot WITH turkeys, we could shoot AT turkeys at the same time!"

Alan looked faintly alarmed. "Maybe using shotguns is going a bit too far," he said hesitantly.

Millie refreshed Alan's lovely beverage, as the Eppes patriarch was still sounding way too rational.

"I've got a better idea," Amita crowed. "Paintball guns! That way we can keep track of who shot what."

Alan looked marginally relieved. Or perhaps the lovely beverage was stronger than he had realized.

Don, Megan, Millie and Larry all laughed uproariously.

We could load them up with gravy instead of paint," Megan suggested to another round of amusement and lovely beverages.

"I need some Wild Turkey," Charlie sighed. He headed into the house to grab some bourbon. Clearly his lovely beverage had not put him on the same level as the others. It was time to some serious catching up.


End file.
